


Share The Pain of Our Defeat

by castiel_ambrose



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, No Incest, No Ship, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27371359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiel_ambrose/pseuds/castiel_ambrose
Summary: “What if the Creed ends?”“What?” Malik almost stopped in his tracks, grip on the training sword faltering for just a second. Kadar kept his defensive stance, ready should his brother attack, but his eyes almost seemed to be focused on something else which eluded him.“If the Templars were to attack Masyaf, and they were to kill all of us… What would happen to the Creed? Would people just forget it?”“Well… No. No, there would still be people to carry on the Creed.”“But they’d all be dead.”“The Creed is an idea. Ideas don’t die.”------A few time stamps of Malik and Kadar's relationship through the years.
Kudos: 7





	Share The Pain of Our Defeat

The castle of Masyaf was, in all things, the heart of any Assassin. It was where many of them were born, kicking and screaming like the fighters they would almost all grow up to be.

It was where many were born and where many might retire, should they be lucky to have such an honor. Malik knew from a young age that it was a rare luxury as soon as he was old enough to comprehend the world. Not many would end up making it to such an age; not when you were meant to give up everything for the Creed, including your very life, should it come to that.

That was how things were, and it was all for the eventual betterment of mankind. Mortality was finite under the best circumstances. 

Kadar grasped this and the importance of this sacrifice, yet dealt with it in some different way. He first began to question when he was entering the beginnings of his teen years, in the most unusual ways.

“What if the Creed ends?”

“What?” Malik almost stopped in his tracks, grip on the training sword faltering for just a second. Kadar kept his defensive stance, ready should his brother attack, but his eyes almost seemed to be focused on something else which eluded him.

“If the Templars were to attack Masyaf, and they were to kill all of us… What would happen to the Creed? Would people just forget it?”

“Well… No. No, there would still be people to carry on the Creed.”

“But they’d all be dead.”

“The Creed is an idea. Ideas don’t die.”

“People do. And you just said-” He put his sword down and edged out of his defense as he started to get into the discussion, and Malik quickly came in to take advantage. With a few swift movements, Kadar’s sword was thrown away from his reach, and he was pinned on his back, wide-eyed at the sudden shift in behavior.

“And people  **will** die if they keep talking and getting distracted during training.” Malik arched an eyebrow, and Kadar mumbled out something in understanding before Malik got off of him, and he rolled to stand.

“I was just asking questions, big brother.”

“And for every one second you spend asking questions, you lose one second off of your life.”

“You’re no fun.” Kadar huffed but agreed and went silent as they continued to train.

* * *

“Does it hurt?” Kadar sat next to Malik on the stone wall, gingerly as if he would any further hurt his brother. Malik looked over at his younger brother from where he was focusing on his hand in his lap and attempted to give a brave smile. 

“It is not so bad. The pain goes away after a while. And the fact that they burn it stops any impurities from entering the wound. See?” Malik pulled his hand out of his lap and showed Kadar where they had taken his left finger off. There had been a rush of pride when the Masters had told him he was ready for the honor of his initiation, to be made into a true man of the Brotherhood. Both him and Altair were now, and that burned something fierce in him that they were on the same level. Not in capability, but in rank. That would need to change soon.

“Why do you do it? Is it because of the Creed?”

“What does the Creed…?”

“It seems unnecessary. To have to cut off a finger.”

“It’s for the Hidden Blade. It makes things easier, so we don’t have to risk our fingers every time we use it. And it’s a sacrifice. For the Brotherhood.”

“There you go on again.”

“Excuse me?” Malik sharpened his tone; not that it was hard with pain still shooting from his hand and throbbing from the stump of his finger to the rest of his body. Kadar still looked unfazed, meeting Malik’s gaze with his own challenging one.

“You cut off your finger without any question? Caused yourself pain because someone told you?”

“Those are our Masters-”

“And have you not thought that you’ve made yourself a target? Obviously, Templars will know what to look for if they see a man in white robes.”

“Kadar, please silence yourself-”

“I don’t want to.”

Their voices didn’t raise at all, a feat remarkable for the heat of the conversation, but there was anger there that Malik was unsure of, something he couldn’t control. This was meant to be a proud day, something he thought his brother would care to witness and be excited to undergo someday of his own accord, and it just… wasn’t there. Or it was hidden under this new bitterness. The younger man went quiet despite how he had protested against his silence, looking down at the ground below the mountains, and Malik took the opportunity.

“This is how things are done. This is how the Brotherhood will survive.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because- Because I do. Because I must. For all our sakes. Look at me.” He waited until his younger brother’s head was raised, and their eyes met. “It is seen as harsh, yes. But it is our world. It is a noble effort. And we are the only ones able to do it for the betterment of men. Though we might not be remembered, not by them, we will be remembered by our own. There is nothing to fear.”

“I don’t fear anything-”

“You do.” And Malik hadn’t been sure of it, not entirely, but he knew in the instant that it was the truth; when he brought it up, Kadar’s eyes had darted away to the left in avoidance, though his voice remained steady. “Kadar. It’s fine to be afraid. But not forever. You’re to be a man of the Brotherhood, and then we all need to look out for each other. You look out for me. And I’ll look out for you.”

Kadar was silent as he studied him for a long moment before speaking again. “You swear that?”

“I do. I swear it on everything.” Malik intoned, face serious as he looked into his brother’s eyes, which were so similar to his. Eventually, Kadar nodded, releasing a breath.

“Then I’ll swear as well to look out for you. And I’ll hold you to it.”

“Fair,” Malik responded, body relaxing slightly as Kadar’s body turned away, and he leaned back on his arms to look out on the landscape stretched out in front of them. The sun was not yet begun to set on them, and in his eyes, Malik saw some quiet flame of passion not yet stomped out despite what was said. He was young yet, and a pain quickly made itself known in Malik’s chest -- one more intense than the one in his hand -- that this wouldn’t be the case forever. Which he expected, it was their lot in life, and Malik was proud of that.

But… were they any different, he couldn’t help but wonder if that fire in Kadar’s eyes would be suited for something else. Where that passion and youth would be directed if not for their Brotherhood.

The sun was long set when they left the wall.

* * *

Malik still thought about those days, sometimes, when things were too quiet, and there were no maps to make, no novices to direct. When he had been younger, there had been a part of him that longed to go and fight for their cause, to leave the safe haven of Masyaf. He had been a young man, then, full of ambition. Jerusalem seemed as far away as you could get for the moment.

There was no pain in his left hand, now. Though that had been so long dulled now, the years making it so, he had to adjust to no hand at all; most of no arm.

And now things were too quiet.

He still saw Kadar, heard him despite how impossible things seemed. In the face of every novice, either much too serious or much too brash, ready to made their presence known and make someone proud, make  **Malik** proud. Sometimes he had to stand still and center himself to keep the bile from rising in his mouth long after those boys left because most of the time they truly were no more than boys.

Except for  **one** . The minute he would walk in, he felt inside as though he was a cat, spitting and hissing and righteous indignation because how  **dare** he stride in when Malik was trying to pull himself together after he had ruined and broken the promise he had tried so hard to keep?

The circles under his eyes seemed to darken every time he caught his reflection, but no one dared to make any sort of mention about it. The food tasted bitter, always, but he would attempt to eat it anyway. 

Things would be better someday, he knew somewhere deep in his bones. He had more people to look after, in his own way, and there was a comfort to be had there. For as much as those novices scared him, he could guide them, teach them. Fix his mistakes.

But for now, just for now… When the sun was starting to set over the high buildings, he would think of indignation and fear and an eager young man who tried to embrace a Creed that Malik now knew he had no place in, never did.

He hoped that Kadar could forgive him, that he could forgive himself. And he would. He would.

But not now.

**Author's Note:**

> Complete disclaimer that I have never written for AC1, and haven't played it in a solid eight years, so I take full responsibility for problems with characters.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, though!! Come say hi and hang out on my [tumblr](https://straight-into-the-animus.tumblr.com/). I'm always accepting requests! Safety and peace!


End file.
